


Jane Austen's Secret

by Kerry_loves_Austen



Category: Jane Austen - Fandom, Original Work, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: Historical Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29875182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerry_loves_Austen/pseuds/Kerry_loves_Austen
Summary: This novel jumps from Jane Austen's past leading up to her death to the present of her descendant, Cassie's life, who tries to discover more about her great-great great Aunt's life. There is mystery, paranormal activity and romance.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a novel that I started writing after writing my first fanfiction for Sanditon. I have always been fascinated by the author Jane Austen and wondered what her life was like. We know so little of it so, I created a story about her and at the same time about a new character who is her descendant. You may recognize some names but all the personalities and storylines are of my own creation. Some of the places and locations in the novel are real and appear so for authenticity, but the people. events and dialogues are all from my imagination. I am providing you with an excerpt and will continue to update it as I write more. I hope you enjoy this story.

_ 17 July 1817 Winchester, England _

In the small town of Winchester, on a warm, lovely summer afternoon, Jane Austen lay quietly in her bed at Chawton House. From the window across her room, she could see her flourishing garden that desperately needed tending. The gooseberries and strawberries were hanging low to the ground and the potatoes were overtaking the rest of the vegetables. Though it had been a while since her mouth could taste the sweet, juicy flavors of the berries, her memory could recall them. She turned slightly to face her night table and saw that someone had brought in a bouquet of peonies and Sweet Williams that grew outside her window.  _ My favorites,  _ she thought to herself. A smile tried to form on her lips, but she was too weak. How she longed to take in their essence and run her fingers along their tops as she walked through her garden. Or to pick up her pen, sit at her desk, and finish her latest novel.  Sanditon  was going to be her most ambitious novel yet. It would break free from society's old traditions and expectations and introduce a new society, a less restrictive and more progressive society. But it was not to be. She had been bed-ridden for months and was finally succumbing to the fatal onset of her mysterious debilitating disease. She could not lift herself up, much less lift her pen to write. The reverend had already visited to administer her final rites. He had been so awkward and formal. It did not suit her at all. Jane thought surely she would have written some diverting verses about him. But again, it could not be. All that remained was for her body to release her spirit from its frail prison. 

It was difficult for Jane's family to see her reduced to this state. She, who brought levity into every situation, could not even arch her eyebrow in the way that made her sister burst into laughter. The comforter could no longer comfort. The pain had become intolerable, though she did her best to hide it so to spare her sister and mother.

Cassandra, Jane’s sister, appeared at her bedside and gingerly took her hand. She thought of all the nights they lay awake together discussing the latest ball they had attended and laughing at the silly manners of some of the guests and teasing one another about each other's dance partners. There was not a day, a room, or a piece of a field that did not hold a special memory of her time with her closest confidante. Cassandra's eyes brimmed with tears, but she brushed them away with the back of her hand. She had promised her sister “no tears” today. Jane turned her head slowly towards her sister and fluttered her eyes. Her voice came out as a whisper, "Cassie, fetch my box." Cassandra smiled softly, then walked to a dresser in the corner, retrieved a small wooden box and placed it gently on Jane's chest. Jane slowly lifted her fingers and touched the box tenderly. She opened the lid for a moment to gaze on its contents. "One last story to tell." Jane mused. For a moment, the mischievous sparkle had returned to her eye. She passed the box to Cassandra, whispered something in her ear; Cassandra nodded. Then Jane turned her head again and closed her eyes. 

Jane's mother entered the room and came to the other side of Jane’s bed, stroked her daughter's hair and cheek, while her older brother, Edward, stood behind his mother, his hand on her shoulder, giving her strength. Her other brothers and families had already stopped by yesterday to say their farewells. Suddenly, a soft wind blew through the window like the faint sound of a buzzing fly and the atmosphere became hollow. Jane was no longer with them.

Almost a week had passed and family and friends made their pilgrimage to honor and pay their respects to Jane. One evening after everyone had turned in, Cassandra retrieved the box Jane had given her and brought it back to her own room. She knelt on the wooden floor by her bed and lifted up the cover. She reached out her hand under the bed and felt for the loosened floorboard. In this space underneath, many a cherished letter or trinket, either hers or Jane's, had been hidden over the years. Jane's secret would now be the last to occupy this space. Before placing the wooden box inside, she retrieved a stack of letters secured by a blue ribbon. She put the box inside, placed the loosened board back, and pulled her cover down. "I hope you know what you are doing, Jane," Cassandra thought. Then, she rose from the floor with the letters in hand and walked to a seat by the fire. Cassandra couldn't believe what she was about to do, but Jane had been emphatic about destroying these letters. Reluctantly, Cassandra honored her sister’s final wishes. One by one, she dropped the letters into the fire, watching the fire curl along the edges and make its way inward until each was reduced to a tiny pile of ash. Each letter contained so many memories, now turned to hoary ghosts. Once her task was complete, Cassandra climbed into bed. She was exhausted with grief. Tomorrow, she would bury her beloved sister and most intimate friend. How could she go on without her? But she must. She was now the guardian of Jane's secret.

Weariness was finally overtaking her. In the last few months, she had been stalwart and faithful at Jane's side. She fed her, read to her, made her laugh. But tonight, she no longer needed to be strong and she could give in to the wave of sorrow and lethargy that now enveloped her. She turned over and with one puff, blew out her candle. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Cassie. Professor of Literature at UNC-Chapel Hill, NC

_ 30 May 2019 Raleigh, North Carolina _

It had been four years since Cassie had left her home in England. Her stomach knotted at the feelings of excitement and apprehension that swirled inside her at the thought of returning once more. She took a deep breath, stepped forward and showed her boarding pass to the flight attendant. “Thank you for flying British Airways. Enjoy your flight,” the young woman greeted her as she ushered Cassie into the aisle. Cassie walked down the narrow lane, passing through the first class curtains into the coach cabin until she found her seat, 14F, by the aisle. She quickly placed her small overnight bag in the compartment above and took her seat. She watched as the plane cabin gradually filled up with businessmen, families, and teenagers on their senior year trip abroad. She observed the other passengers’ movements with interest, noticing how the businessmen quickly bunkered down, ready for the flight to take off, the parents trying to wrangle their children into their seats, hoping they had brought enough items to entertain them on the flight. The excited chatter of the teenagers filled the cabin as they tried to rearrange their seating in order to sit next to their best mate. Cassie found the melding of all these different lives in this one confined space fascinating. So many lives, so many stories, now merging to arrive at the same destination. “Pardon me, love, that’s my seat next to you,” said an elderly English lady who just appeared in front of her. “Oh, of course,” Cassie swiftly stood up and allowed the woman to pass by her. Her knit blue dress was caught momentarily on the arm of the seat and Cassie helped her loosen it. “Thank you, love!” the woman said cheerfully. Once both were comfortably adjusted in their seats, they sat back in their chairs, seat belts buckled, waiting for instructions from the pilot. All had boarded by now and the low hum of the engine lulled the anxious travelers into a nervous calm. Finally, the friendly voice of the pilot came over the intercom, informing everyone they were next in queue for take-off. Cassie closed her eyes, thinking on what had happened in the last few years that had led her to this moment, while the plane increased its speed on the runway. She came to North Carolina to forge her own way and achieve success by her own merits, not through the name of her family. She knew, however, it was impossible to get away from the influence of her family completely. And now she was returning to them. She loved her family, she just didn't want to be defined by them. The airplane lifted off the ground and catapulted into the air towards the afternoon horizon until it reached the clouds, then leveled off. Cassie was lost in thought, when the English woman beside her turned towards her and asked, “So love, are you going on holiday or returning from a holiday?” Though the question was innocent enough, it was quite complicated for Cassie. 

So she replied, “That all depends on who you ask, I suppose.” 

The kind, elderly woman’s face now took on a bemused look. 

Cassie felt she had to explain, “I’m a Brit, but four years ago, I moved to North Carolina to take a new position. My mum thinks I am returning from a 4-year sabbatical, but I am actually leaving my home to go on sabbatical.” 

The woman now nodded her understanding. She continued her inquiry, “So you are a professor, then?” thinking only professors or clergy used the word "sabbatical."

“Yes, I teach Regency English Literature at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.”

“Regency literature?” pondered the woman, “Does that mean you teach Jane Austen?” 

Cassie replied hesitantly, “Er, among other authors, but yes, I do.”

“Oh I am such a fan of Jane Austen! I have read her novels since I was a young girl. My favorite is  _ Pride and Prejudice _ . That Mr. Darcy is a dream, isn’t he?” The elder woman’s light brown eyes now twinkled with youthful delight. 

Cassie laughed softly, “yes, he is a favorite among the Janeites.”

Just then, the flight attendant pulled up next to her with the drink and snack cart. “What can I get you, miss?” the hostess asked.

“ Tea, please,” Cassie replied. 

“I’d like a gin and tonic, please,” said the elderly woman. Then she leaned over and whispered to Cassie, “Helps me fall asleep on the plane ride.” 

Cassie just smiled at her. She was right; within a few minutes of drinking her cocktail, the woman was sound asleep. She had been pleasant enough to chat with, but Cassie was glad to have time to herself now. She pulled her shoulder-length, strawberry blonde hair into a low ponytail so that it would not get too tangled during the flight, allowing her to rest somewhat comfortably. She reached down into her handbag and found her mobile. She turned it on and found that she had missed a call from Robert. She smiled wanly, wondering what he forgot to tell her this time. It seemed he was always finding reasons to call her. Granted, he was sweet, intelligent and handsome in that professor -next- door way. He taught in the English department with her at Chapel Hill. They had gone out a few times, shared a love for trivia crack, books, and walks in Chapel Hill's arboretum. She liked him well enough, but did not feel the need to rush anything; besides, she had been planning this sabbatical for a few months now and it would be hard if they were in a serious relationship. She quickly dismissed thoughts of Robert when she went back and read the text her sister, Emilia, had sent her a few days ago. Emilia had been rummaging through some uncatalogued personal effects that had come from the Chawton House and sent to the British Museum in London for safekeeping. An old jewellery box of Cassandra Austen had been found containing some items she might find useful in her research. The excitement Cassie first felt at the news returned to her as she became anxious to see what these items could be. The research she had been doing for her book had come to a grinding halt last year and she worried she would have to abandon her idea for another less stimulating topic. But this new discovery might be the thing she needed to revive her research. Now that she was anxious to set her feet in London, the plane seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace. Cassie wondered if she should take the cue from the fellow traveler next to her and order a drink to help her sleep through the flight, but she did not want to wake up groggy the next morning. She preferred to have a clear mind when she got off the plane. No, she would not sleep much on this flight. She would need a strong cup of coffee and a hot shower after she arrived in London tomorrow morning.


	3. Chapter 2

_31 May London, England_

At 10:30 am a taxi pulled up to a townhouse in the posh estate of Lennox Gardens. The cabby unloaded Cassie’s luggage and brought them to the top of the staircase leading to a brick facade trimmed with white-edged windows and a cobalt-blue door flanked by two wrought-iron, gas-lit lanterns. Cassie thanked the man and tipped him well. She then turned grudgingly toward the door, took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Just then her mobile buzzed and she read the text. "Flight land ok? Miss you already- Rob." She texted back "yes. Miss you too" as the door quickly opened and a plump, matronly woman, with silver, bobbed hair in a knee-length taupe skirt and a pleated cream blouse stood in front of her. 

“Oh Miss Cassie, you are here!” the woman cheerfully greeted her. “Why did you not phone us from the airport? We would have sent a car to come get you.”

“Hello, Ms. Banks. It’s good to see you,” Cassie replied as she warmly embraced the woman. Ms. Banks gave a look to the man standing behind her and he immediately jumped to retrieve the luggage in the doorway and took it upstairs to the designated room. 

“Your mother has been anxiously awaiting your arrival as well as your sister, Emilia. But she has not returned yet from the office. I will let your mother know you are here,” remarked Ms. Banks, then added as she looked at the disheveled, jet-lagged Cassie, “but first, maybe you should take a shower and have a change of clothes before you see her?” A long-time employee of the Knight-Leigh Family, Ms. Banks knew the protocol well. Cassie mouthed the words “thank you” as she made her way up the staircase to her room. Family portraits of Knights, Leighs and Austens of present and past lined the wall as Cassie went up the stairs. Each step was a journey into the past until she reached the top of the staircase where she came face to face with the portrait of the family patriarch: Edward Austen Knight. Edward Austen Knight was the brother of Jane Austen, who helped her publish her books and, following her death, made sure they stayed in circulation and that her legacy was secured. Now, Cassie’s mother was President of the Jane Austen Heritage Foundation, following in the steps of each man in the portraits lined on the staircase wall. Cassie always felt a need to stop and look at the face of Edward Austen-- was it to seek a family resemblance? Approval? Pay homage? She wasn’t sure. She turned away, walked down the hall and into her bedroom. Just as it was all those years ago when she left for uni at Oxford College. In the center, there was a four-post bed draped with a yellow and cornflower blue duvet, gold-framed prints of Monet’s Poppy Fields decorated the walls. In the right corner was a bookshelf brimming with classic literature and historical references. Her desk was on the opposite side of the room facing the window with the view of Hyde Park. She lay her bag down next to the nightstand. She pulled out the outfit she would wear after her shower and laid it out on the bed: a soft pink, long-sleeved blouse, a pair of tapered beige trousers and ballet flats. She also took out her suit jacket to wear when she would go to the British Museum for her meeting. She was ready to wash off the ache and grime of the 12-hour flight. She stripped off her clothes and went into the bathroom adjacent to her room. She took her hair out of the ponytail and turned on the hot water in the shower. Soon the steam was rising in the air. She stepped into the shower and enjoyed the jet streams massaging her shoulders, melting away the tension. She found her favorite scented shampoo hanging in the caddy and took in the fresh smell of wildflowers as she lathered her hair. She would have loved to take a long, luxurious bath, but she was too anxious to get to the meeting she had at the British Museum. And she couldn’t do that until she first spoke with her mother. She sighed, turning off the water and reaching for a plush towel to wrap around her. She stood in front of the mirror and wiped the steam so she could see her reflection. Her eyes were a sea blue and her skin ivory except for the smattering of freckles that showed up on her cheeks when her skin heated. She frowned. She didn’t usually make a fuss about her appearance, but she had a long-standing dislike of her freckles. Mostly because she was teased in the schoolyard by some silly boys in grammar school. Well, lucky for her she liked to spend her time in libraries and museums now and did not have a lot of exposure to the sun. She dried herself off and dressed, then finished by adding some light foundation with sunscreen, a bit of concealer to cover those bags under her eyes due to the jetlag, and a bit of lip gloss. She put her hair in a chignon, looked in the mirror one last time and was ready to go downstairs to face the inquisition- her mother. 

Cassie was now hungry and in dire need of coffee. She found the table ready with the midmorning tea and coffee spread. She sat down and hurriedly chose a scone and began to apply jam to it. Her mouth tingled from the warm, fresh strawberry taste, causing her to reminisce about summers picking and eating strawberries on the farm her family still owned. This jam came from that same farm. She poured cream and coffee in her cup and was just taking her first sip when her mother walked in. Catherine Knight-Leigh was the matriarch of the Austen-Knight-Leigh family and took her role in the family and in society very seriously. Preserving the Austen Legacy and name was her duty and life pursuit, and she would allow no one to soil it. She looked down at Cassie with arms open wide. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “my prodigal daughter has finally come home!” Cassie rolled her eyes but stood up to embrace her mother. 

“Mother, don’t be so dramatic. I have been teaching and doing my research, not carousing and wasting my inheritance,” Cassie chided. 

“No matter, you’re back. That is all that counts,” her mother replied nonchalantly. 

Cassie did not have the desire to argue that this return was most likely not permanent. So she returned to her seat and continued drinking her coffee. Her mother sat at the end of the table and took her tea. “That professor you are seeing-- what is his name, oh yes Robert- is he not joining you?” Her mother was not one to mince words. 

“No mother, and we are just friends.” Mrs. Knight-Leigh gave a look that was both disbelieving and disapproving. However, to Cassie’s surprise, she let go of the subject and moved on.

“Knowing you, Cassie, I am sure you must already have an agenda for today. So what are your plans?” her mother inquired.

Cassie replied, “I have a few errands to run in town.” 

“And?” her mother prodded. 

Cassie hesitated a moment, then added, “Emilia told me about some effects that were discovered at the Chawton House and were sent to the British Museum for cataloguing. I thought I might go over there and take a look at them,” Cassie tried to sound as indifferent as possible. But to no avail. Her mother narrowed her eyes and said, “You are not still on that wild goose chase of trying to find Jane Austen’s secret lover, are you?” And now they were back to the reason Cassie had left here four years ago. “Why would you want to bring scandal to your ancestor after 200 years’ preservation of a pristine reputation?” protested Mrs. Knight-Leigh, her face scrunching up. 

“Mother, for the last time. I am not trying to stir up scandal. You know I value maintaining her legacy as much as you do. I just want to know more about her. We know so little of her, other than through her novels and a few letters. I just think there is more of her somewhere out there. There is someone she loved who kept mementos of her and did not get rid of them; I just know it. You know I am being discreet in my inquiries. And these effects are the first leads I have come across in a while. Please, mum. Let’s not fight,” Cassie pleaded as she reached across the table and put her hand over her mother’s. 

Mrs. Knight-Leigh’s face relaxed and gave her daughter a half-smile, “Alright. Just be careful, and I will be watching,” she warned. Changing the subject, Mrs. Knight-Leigh added, “But you are coming to the Annual Gala for the Jane Austen Foundation, yes?” 

Cassie stood up from the table, kissed her mum on the cheek, and said, “Wouldn’t miss it. I will see you this evening at dinner.” Cassie grabbed her handbag and diary from the chair in the foyer and searched for her mobile. It was noon and her meeting with Emilia at the British Museum was at 1 pm. Cassie phoned her to let her know she was on her way. When Emilia picked up, she said, “Cass, I am so sorry. I have gotten held back at the office with preparations for the Gala this week. Can you go without me? The curator of the Regency Exhibit is Alex Stuart. He would be the one in charge of cataloguing any new items. The director of the British Museum is supposed to introduce you to him and make everything at your disposal, ok? Cheers, love.” And with that, she hung up.  _ I guess that will give me more time to investigate on my own, _ Cassie thought to herself as she walked outside into a bristly wind and cloudy grey sky.


	4. Chapter 3

Alexander Stuart was walking back from lunch and passed by a large marquee of the newest Jane Austen adaptation,  _ Sanditon,  _ being released. He rolled his eyes and kept walking. He was tired of all these crazy Austen fans flooding the museum and the whole of London, squealing, clutching their copies of  _ Pride and Prejudice  _ as if somehow at any minute, they were going to run into their perfect Mr. Darcy, complete in regency clothes and some cliché romantic declaration of love. Alex had never actually read any of Jane Austen’s novels himself, but he was sure they were full of romantic, unrealistic nonsense.  _ “Chick-lit,” I believe they call it,  _ he thought. He did not have time for that. He was interested in facts, reality. That is why he was a historian. History could not lie or change. People may try and distort it, but in the end, the truth cannot be denied. 

Alex walked into the museum through the employee entrance. He was supposed to receive a new assistant today and a visitor from the Jane Austen foundation to look at some personal effects of the Austen family they just received from Chawton House. They looked like mere trinkets to him at best, but since they might have belonged to Jane Austen, they were to be treated like the crown jewels.  _ I hope this visitor doesn’t get her hopes up _ , Alex thought. 

  
  
  


Cassie walked into the British Museum slightly earlier than her appointed time and made her way towards the Regency Exhibit. She had been here many times as a girl with her father and could walk these halls practically blindfolded. She considered these sculptures and paintings her old friends. What stories they told! She continued until she reached the entrance of the Regency Exhibit where she found a slim scholarly-looking man, with thick, salt and pepper hair, wearing a grey knit jumper and black trousers. He wore a lanyard around his neck stating he was the Senior Director of the British Museum. He approached her tentatively, “ Miss Knight-Leigh, I presume?” 

Cassie nodded in reply and shook his extended hand.

“How lovely to meet you. My name is Nigel Singh, director of the British Museum. We are so glad you are here. Your mother’s foundation has always been a great supporter of ours. If you would not mind waiting for a moment here while I go fetch our new assistant from the front? I shall return shortly and introduce you to our Curator.” He bustled away towards the museum entrance. Cassie stood for a moment in the large exhibit room holding her diary. All of a sudden, the corner door to the curator’s office opened abruptly and a man stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a lean build. He wore a white cuffed shirt with a sleek, oxford blue waistcoat and trousers, and shiny, brown loafers. When he turned to face her, she was struck by his handsome features; the angled jaw, full lips, straight-edged nose, and the intense brown eyes behind his black-framed eyeglasses.

“You there, are you my new assistant?” he barked more than asked. Before Cassie could even respond, he waved her into his office with his arm. “I have some Jane Austen sycophant coming from the Foundation to look at some new items that have been discovered in the writer’s old home. We are to allow her to inspect the items, but do not allow her under any circumstances to remove these items from the museum, understand?” Cassie tried to get a word in, but he continued shuffling some papers on his desk without even looking at her. “No doubt they will try to use these insignificant trinkets for publicity and wave them around like they discovered the remains of Atlantis.” Cassie was starting to feel insulted, but her sense of humor tapered her anger toward this insolent man. Apparently, he was not a fan of her great aunt. Just as she finally felt she could speak, he looked up at her and said, “So long as you are just going to stand there, do you mind getting me a coffee? We already have plenty of statues here, as you can see.”

Cassie felt her neck and cheeks grow hot. She had just about enough of this jerk and was going to tell him so when the Museum director walked in with a young girl who looked fresh out of uni. 

“Ah Alex, I see you’ve met Miss Cassie Knight-Leigh, from The Jane Austen Foundation,” Nigel said.

For a moment, Alex’s eyes grew wide and his jaw tightened as he truly looked at her for the first time. 

“You are Miss Cassie Knight-Leigh?” he spoke pointedly.

“Yes,” replied Cassie, adding with a smirk, “The Jane Austen sycophant.” She held out her hand. 

He reached out to shake hers and said, “Apologies. Alex Stuart, curator of the Regency Historical Exhibit.” His gaze did not soften as he continued to scrutinize her. And then with a flicker, he turned his attention to Nigel and the young assistant standing in the room awkwardly, slightly confused by the situation. 

Nigel felt the need to introduce the young woman, “This is Josie Hassan. She is your new assistant.” She was tall and slender, of Kenyan descent. Josie grinned wide, flashing her white teeth, her dark-brown eyes twinkling as she cheerfully held out her hand to Alex. He shook her hand absent-mindedly and said, “Hello.” 

“Well, I will leave you to it then. Cheers,” Nigel said as he shuffled out of Alex’s office. Alex nodded toward him. 

_ The office was barely the size of a bedroom and quite stuffy, surely the items are not held here?  _ thought Cassie. 

As if Alex could read her thoughts, he stated, “We are going down to the preservation room, where the items are being held safely, under proper room temperature.” He ushered both Cassie and Josie towards the door and began walking down the corridor where the lift was located. He pressed the button and the doors automatically opened. As they all stepped in, Alex stated mirthlessly, “The items are quite fragile, of course. So please be extra careful when handling them.” 

“Of course; this isn’t my first trip to the museum,” Cassie shot back. They both locked their eyes on the lift doors, arms crossed, refusing to look at one another. Meanwhile the new assistant, Josie, just stood behind them, not exactly sure what she was supposed to do, but not daring open her mouth at this moment. The doors opened to a spacious, underground warehouse divided up into laboratory-like offices. Several large safes were housed down here as well. Alex led them to an office surrounded by glass windows furnished with several metallic dressers with airlocked drawers. Alex now opened one of these drawers and pulled out a simple, rectangular, wooden jewellery box with three flowers carved in the middle. He placed the jewellery box on the one wooden table in the room. Cassie forgot about being annoyed by Alex Stuart and just stared at the box, eager to see its contents. Now, Cassie turned to look at Alex Stuart and asked, “What can you tell me about this box? Where was it found?”

He replied matter-of-factly, “I was told it was found under a floorboard in what had been Cassandra Austen’s room. Apparently, some renovations were underway recently and one of the carpenters discovered it when they went to pull up the rotted wood.” 

This news made Cassie even more anxious to discover its contents. Cassandra Austen took the trouble of hiding the items in this box under her floorboard.  _ She must have known they would not be discovered for a long time, if at all. Why would she intentionally hide these objects? _

“Have you looked at the contents yet?” She asked aloud.

“Only to count the number of items. Which is six by the way,” he said categorically. He handed her some latex gloves then stood across from her with his arms folded as she went to open the small jewellery box. 

Cassie’s gloved fingers slowly outlined the engraved flowers on the lid. They were carved so perfectly. Carefully, she lifted the lid. Inside the box, it was hollowed out and lined with red velvet fabric. Because the box had been hidden for so long and unopened, the inside was amazingly well preserved. She found a green satin handkerchief that was used to wrap up the items inside. The initials “H.P.” were embroidered on it. She gingerly pulled back the four overlapping corners and stared down at the five items Cassandra Austen had chosen to conceal from the world: a pendant on a chain containing a lock of dark brown hair, a medium-size brooch bearing a watercolor portrait of a young gentleman, then three hand-written words that had been cut out from a letter or letters. She picked up the portrait and placed it lightly in her gloved palm, staring at it, drawn to it. The watercolor was more impressionistic and the features were blurred, except for the eyes. Something about his eyes seemed to reach out and look straight into her soul. She felt a slight chill and shuddered.  _ It must be drafty down here in this basement _ , she told herself. 

“So is it all you were hoping for?” remarked Alex, smirking.

“Well, it’s not Atlantis,” Cassie retorted, “ but it is interesting.”

Alex inwardly cringed, but said nothing.

“Right. Do you mind if I take a picture of these items with my mobile?” Cassie asked as she reached for her handbag.

“By all means,” Alex said, then suddenly curious, added, “Do those words mean anything to you?”

The three words Cassandra had chosen to save were “Edward," "Somerset" and "St. Agnes.” Cassie spread them out and then took a close up picture of each item individually, including the embroidered handkerchief. She replied, “The only one I could even guess at is ‘Edward.’ That is Jane and Cassandra Austen’s brother. The other two I have no idea what connection they have to them, nor do I know who or what ‘H.P.’ stands for. It looks as if I have some research to do.” 

Alex began shifting impatiently, “Well, I do need to be off. It’s very busy today and I must show Josie her duties.” Josie had stayed in the corner, quietly observing this entire time. 

“Of course,” replied Cassie. She began placing the items back into the wooden box how she found them. She took a look at the portrait one more time. She didn’t know how to explain it, but somehow she felt a connection to it, to him.  _ That’s ridiculous _ , she thought and pushed the feeling aside. She passed the box back to Alex and he placed it in the airlocked drawer. They made their way back upstairs in silence. When the elevator doors opened, Cassie quickly stepped out first. As Alex and Josie stepped from the lift, Cassie turned to him and stated, “Thank you for accommodating me, Mr. Stuart. I am sorry if I have caused any inconvenience to you.” She extended her hand to him and he shook it as he said, “No problem at all, Ms. Knight-Leigh. The British Museum is always willing to oblige our valued donors.” He smiled, but only half-way. Cassie said “good-bye” and left the museum as quickly as possible. She couldn’t believe how rude Alex Stuart was. At first sight, she had thought he was handsome but then he opened his mouth and all cordial feelings were gone.

As she was coming out of the museum and stepping into a cab, her phone rang. It was Emilia. “Hello, love. So how did it go? Did you meet Alex Stuart? Not a bad looker, right?”

Cassie rolled her eyes. Her sister was constantly trying to set her up with every half-decent, warm-blooded male she came across. The truth is Cassie was not inclined to be in a serious relationship with anyone. She liked her life, her career and she had her friends and family. She didn’t need someone to be tied to for security. Emilia had a happy marriage, children and career and was always telling Cassie she could have both too. But Cassie quite enjoyed her independence. No, just like Elizabeth Bennet, only the strongest of connections and compatibility could induce her to marry.

Cassie replied, “Yes, Emilia. I met him. He’s handsome, I’ll give you that but he’s a bit of a tosser.” Emilia sounded surprised but Cassie continued, “ So you can scratch him off your list of potential matches you have for me.”

Emilia laughed, “Surely he couldn’t have been that bad, could he? Maybe he was having a rough day?” Emilia was ever the optimist. Cassie just shook her head and replied sarcastically, “Yeah, I’m sure that was it.” 

Emilia changed the subject, “So, what about the items they found from Chawton House? Any luck?”

Cassie told her about the objects she found in the jewellery box. Then she added, “At first glance, they just seem random. But I get the feeling they are all connected. Almost like clues that Cassandra left behind for us to unravel. I am going to do some digging and see what I come up with.” 

“Look at you, I thought you were an English professor? When did you turn into Sherlock Holmes?” Emilia teased. “Unfortunately, I haven’t the time to be your Watson; I’ve got mum’s Gala to finalize. Don’t forget to pick up your dress. The Gala is in two days.” 

Cassie reassured her, “Don’t worry, I won’t forget. I will pick it up tomorrow. Gotta go, love; I’ve got to exit out the cab. See you tonight.” Cassie paid the driver and stepped out onto the street. She had a few errands to run, including getting fitted for her dress for the Gala. But her mind could not help wandering back to the objects in that box. What did they all mean? How were they all connected? Those were the questions she was determined to find the answer to.


End file.
